The Gift

“The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why.” — Mark Twain

If you’ve ever met my son Sullivan, you know that quote describes him perfectly.

Sullivan is a newly minted private pilot, though in truth he’s been a pilot in spirit for as long as he could comprehend what an airplane was. At two years old, he had memorized the startup checklist for our Cessna 120 and would enthusiastically shout “CLEAR!” in his squeaky toddler voice before engine start.

Earning his private pilot certificate at 17 wasn’t the beginning of his aviation journey — it was simply the official recognition of a dream he had been living his entire life.

Like many new pilots, that freshly earned certificate was burning a hole in his pocket. So when he asked if I would join him on a lunch flight in our family SR22, I didn’t hesitate. What I didn’t realize was that this wouldn’t simply be a lunch run. It would become one of those rare days that stays with you forever.

He already knew exactly where he wanted to go.

Our destination was Lear Field (KHAE) in Hannibal, Missouri, a place that had captured his imagination during one of his private pilot solo cross-country flights. The airport sits near the hometown of two giants Sullivan greatly admires: Aviation pioneer Bill Lear and literary legend Mark Twain.

Like me, Sullivan is an avid reader. A recent American Literature unit on Mark Twain had only deepened his fascination with the author. After visiting Hannibal on a solo cross-country flight, he returned home eager to tell me everything he had discovered: The Mark Twain Museum, the bookstores, the historic downtown, and the quotations from Twain that seem to greet visitors around every corner. He had experienced the Mississippi River from both the ground and the air and found the experience unforgettable. Now he wanted to share it with me.

As any parent of a teenager knows, opportunities to spend meaningful time together become increasingly rare. When opportunity knocks, you open the door.

The evening before our flight, Sullivan reviewed his flight plan with me, discussing routes, weather, fuel planning, and diversion options. The forecast looked perfect at our departure airport, Pella Municipal Airport (KPEA) in Iowa, our destination, KHAE, and everywhere in between. Even better, when we woke the next morning, the forecast still held. Small miracles do happen.

After departure, I settled into the right seat and watched this young pilot confidently orchestrate every phase of the flight. His radio work was polished. His situational awareness was excellent. His decision-making was thoughtful and deliberate.

None of this surprised me.

I’ve spent countless hours watching him fly from the back seat while his father, a flight instructor, guided him through training. I never doubted his ability. Yet sitting beside him as a passenger felt entirely different.

There is something profoundly emotional about having a front-row seat as your child achieves a goal they have pursued for as long as you can remember.

Mark Twain captured it perfectly: “Without dreams and goals there is no living, only merely existing, and that is not why we are here.”

As we settled into cruise flight, the navigation workload eased and conversation naturally took over. Together we enjoyed the bird’s-eye view that has become so familiar to us. Between the two of us, we’ve logged hundreds of hours crossing the lower 48 states, witnessing landscapes few people ever experience.

At one point, we talked about how roughly 80% of the world’s population has never flown in an airplane. They’ve never seen the inside of a cloud. Never watched their hometown shrink beneath them. Never experienced the unique perspective that aviation provides.

It was a reminder of how easily we take extraordinary things for granted.

A healthy tailwind shortened our flight and before long we were listening to the AWOS, descending toward Hannibal, and scanning for traffic. Despite a few bumps on final approach, Sullivan executed a beautiful landing. After a short taxi, we parked on the ramp at Lear Field and signed out the crew car.

Before we left the airport, Sullivan offered a warning.

“The car starts shaking above 50 miles per hour,” he said with a grin. “The drive into town might be the most dangerous part of this trip.”

Thankfully, we survived.

Hannibal welcomed us with all the charm one might expect from the hometown of America’s most beloved storyteller. The Mississippi River framed a picturesque downtown filled with shops, restaurants, colorful murals, and historic buildings. Banners displaying Twain quotations hung from light poles throughout the city.

One caught my eye: “Right is right, and wrong is wrong, and a body ain’t got no business doing wrong when he ain’t ignorant and knows better.”

Our first stop was the Mark Twain Boyhood Home & Museum. For any admirer of Twain, it is a delightful glimpse into the life and surroundings that inspired his work. Afterward, we walked to the riverbank and stood quietly beside the Mighty Mississippi.

With no schedule to keep and nowhere we needed to be, I let my enthusiastic tour guide take the lead.

We wandered through shops, admired historic architecture, sampled chocolate, and eventually found ourselves at the Mark Twain Dinette for lunch. It was exactly the sort of unhurried day that seems increasingly rare in modern life.

When lunch was over, we climbed back into the courtesy car and returned to the airport.

As we completed our run-up, Sullivan’s dad, Shane, called to check in. We assured him everything was going according to plan, finished our checklist, and departed for home.

On the return flight, we followed the Mississippi River as long as possible. From our vantage point above, its scale was almost impossible to comprehend. Together we reflected on Twain’s years as a steamboat pilot and how those experiences shaped the writer he would become.

Historians note that Twain followed the Wright brothers’ aviation achievements with great interest and even publicly commented on their accomplishments after their historic flights. It struck us as fitting that a man who spent his life captivated by transportation and exploration would be fascinated by humanity’s conquest of the skies.

In many ways, our fascination with Twain mirrors his fascination with the Wright brothers. Each generation looks with wonder at those who expanded the boundaries of what seemed possible.

As the miles slipped beneath our wings, I found myself thinking about another Twain quote: “Give every day the chance to become the most beautiful day of your life.”

I think Sullivan and I did exactly that.

Years from now, I may not remember every detail of the flight plan or every stop we made downtown. But I will remember sitting beside my son as he confidently guided us across the Midwest. I will remember the conversations, the laughter, the Mississippi stretching endlessly below us, and the privilege of sharing an adventure with someone I love.

For those fortunate enough to have access to an airplane, I encourage you to share an adventure with someone special. And if there’s someone in your life who has never experienced general aviation, don’t wait for the perfect opportunity. Take them flying.

Because, as Mark Twain wisely reminded us: “To get the full value of joy, you must have someone to divide it with.”